The only sound was the pouring of tea into tiny little cups. Constant and I sat on small sofa across from Marcus as he served our tea on the coffee table between us. Constant sat relaxed, leaned back with one arm up on the back of the sofa. She seemed completely unaware that we were in the enemies den, the room of the kidnappers. I sat rigidly, my hands folded in my lap. It took every ounce of my self-control to stay still. I couldn't sit normally, I was so nervous I had to be either moving completely or as stock-still as a statue. I chose still, figuring it was the most normal option.
Marcus finished pouring the tea and sat back in his chair.
"Well, where is he?"Constant asked casually, reaching for her cup of tea.
Marcus tilted his head to one side, licked his lips thoughtfully, then replied. "Do you know how they made him?"
I found myself wondering why no one gave straight answers around here. It could've made things so much simpler.
"No, the finer points of genetics are beyond my knowledge," she replied.
"No matter. I can explain."
"I'd rather you didn't," she said with a sigh. "We don't have all the time in the world."
Marcus barked out a laugh. "Humor me then, about something more your speed," he said, eyes narrowed slightly.
She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "Consider yourself humored," she told him.
"Why he was made,"Marcus began.
"How does that matter?" she asked, sounding impatient.
"How does it not?!" He replied, indignant. I found myslf gazing out the window. Down below were the treetops of Darbour. They formed a canopy so thick it almost looked as if you could walk straight across. They were still arguing.
"He is made. There is nothing more. He exists, and therefore he should be allowed to continue to exist," Constant said, her gaze the type of gaze that could open doors.
"You don't believe that,"Marcus scoffed.
"You don't?"
"He is an abomination. Regardless of his individuality, if they are allowed to continue making people to essentially be slaves then they'll never stop! Think about it. Entire armies, created just to be soldiers. Lean, mean, killing machines. No regret, no conscience. They don't even have to wait for them to reach the right age. Accelerated cell growth, they grow them in tubes right down in the lab."
"Wait," I interrupted. "Can they do that? Get rid of the conscience?"
Marcus turned to me, then back to Constant. "How much information did you give him?"
"He can't be brainwashed into being one of your worker bees, if that's what you're implying," she nearly spat back.
"Because he's already been brainwashed into being yours?" Marcus sneered.
I felt like a child watching my parents fight. Being kept in the dark was getting more than a little annoying.
"Stop. I'm not going be, nor have I been, brainwashed to be anybody's anything. Just tell me, can they do things like that? Get rid of a conscience?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
"Yes," Marcus said, "they can make them to be anything they want. They know which centers of the brain are 'necessary', and which aren't. He is the president, because he's been made to be the president, nothing more. He has been genetically engineered to love the people of Darbour and their planet. Created to be charismatic, good at dealing with the public, other politicians and business men. He makes excellent speeches. He's simple and profound in his public speaking, because it's all he can be."
"Like a computer? Only doing the tasks it was made for? The coding it has?" I asked, trying to put it into terms I could grasp. It was mind boggling, and a little frightening. I could see the picture Marcus was trying to paint. Soldiers, thousands of them, in rows and rows as far as the eye could see. I could picture them looking up, their eyes dead, ready to kill. Millions of them at anyone's disposal.
"Basically like a computer. He's not really a person, just a creation."
"Why don't you just let him go? Let him go live a life somewhere else? I mean, he's got a conscience, right?" I suggested.
"He has one, because they wanted him to. But he can't do anything else, he only knows how to be the president of Darbour. It's what he's programmed to do. And besides, you don't let a monster loose in the galaxy. They have laws about this sort of thing. According to the inter-planetary laws, he should never have been made."
"You can't exactly blame him for what someone else did," I said.
"They found a way around your strict interpretation of the law, Marcus. This is within legal limits," Constant added. I didn't know. I didn't remembrance much of my government classes from school. I had been busy with engineering and space travel. The Grand Council and they're list of laws as long as the galaxy itself had not held my attention.
"And they will continues to find loops hole and generally trample the laws as they please unless someone stops them!" Marcus nearly shouted. Tea sloshed from his cup to the saucer. He leaned back, closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He was looking right at me. His eyes were a hazy blue I couldn't quite trust.
"Look, Sam, you're looking at this all wrong. Like he's a person, like you or me. He's not. He's more of a computer, like you said. One that never should have been made in the first place. The universe has a way of being and you shouldn't mess with that. When you make someone you can only make the body, the pieces the way you like. You can't make the most important part. The soul."
I didn't know how to reply. In my world the soul wasn't something you thought about. My world had been bolts, screwdrivers, spare parts. Tangible things. A soul...
"Well, how come you're born with a soul then?" I cautiously supplied.
"Because you're supposed to be born."
"But when you have a kid, you're not responsible for the soul. It's just... there. Couldn't that happen with someone like the President?"
Constant, who had been unusually silent since Marcus' outburst, stood up.
"Where is he Marcus?" She asked, quietly. Marcus looked up at her.
"You should leave, Constant. Take Sam and go somewhere else. This is not your problem. You don't need to save every lost puppy-dog. Go home before you have to watch what happens when people mess with the proper ways of the universe," he said coolly. There was something dangerous in his words and I could see she felt it too. We stood up and left, abandoning our half-drunk tea on the coffee table.
The door shut behind us and we were left standing in the empty hall again.
"I cannot stand that man. He is so pretentious," Constant said, her eyes wandering around the hall.
"Yeah, well... What now?" I asked. I was worried. We were in over our heads. Trying to rescue something being fought over by Darbour and this odd revolutionary group. Or someone? I still wasn't sure.
"We pay a visit to the President," she said, breaking into my thoughts.
"Oh?" I asked. But before she could elaborate, if she was going to, that is, there was the sound of steps down the hall. It was the man from earlier, the one from the elevator with the glasses. He paused as soon as he saw us. His eyes went wide as he noticed which door we were standing in front of.
"Speaking of brainwashed worker bees," Constant said lowly.
"Like twenty minutes ago, yes," I replied, my eyes on the figure down the hall just like hers were.
A smile spread across Constant's face. She looked like a cat just before the pounce. The man recognized it too. He turned to run, his lanky legs almost tripping over themselves. She bolted after him. One second she was standing right next to me, the next she was halfway down the hall.
She bounded after him, running on the tips of her feet like a sprinter. He was no match for her. In a few seconds she was right behind him. In one swift movement she leaped up, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He stumbled, once, twice, then fell. There was a crash and a grunt. Looking around to make sure no one had seen, I ran down to where they lay in a tangled heap. "Constant! Geez!" The sudden violence had surprised me. She sat up, grinning and rolled him over. His glasses lay a few feet ahead, the lenses shattered. She crouched over him, the palm of one hand flat against his chest. He groaned and gazed confusedly up at both of us. I smiled sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders.
"Sorry. Even I didn't see that one coming," I told him, trying to be of some comfort.
"Who are you?" He asked. "I'll have you know I'm Darren Basher, son of Alexander Basher-"
"Prime Dean of Mining," Constant finished his sentence. A blush filled Darren's pale cheeks.
"Yes," he told us, "and that makes me very important. So if you break anything..."
"Your father, he helped to build the President?" Constant asked, ignoring Darren's threats. Our prisoner gritted his teeth. "Yes," he said.
"Ah. The perfect recruitment for FiveOhThirtyOne. Daddy is rich, you resent that for whatever silly reason you rich kids do, and Marcus sweeps in and takes advantage of it. Gives you a place to put all your resentment, a channel to put your angst. And the President gets caught in the middle."
"How do you know Marcus?" Darren demanded, beginning to struggle a little. So Darren was involved in this. I wasn't sure about Constant's methods, but she did know how to get information.
"We had our time in the suns," she said offhandedly.
"Now wait a minute," I interjected, "I've been wondering the same thing." I wanted to know more about Marcus. He frightened me and I didn't like that. I wondered where Constant knew him from, if she had been a part of FiveOhThirtyOne.
"Now's not the time. Will someone please tell me where in the stars the flippin' president is?!" Constant exclaimed. She was very secretive when it came to her past. Her details came slowly, and they were almost always ambiguous. She was like a puzzle I had to put together. And I had to do it in the middle of interrogating the sons of rich business men.
"None of your business," Darren said, somehow managing to pull off a haughty expression even while being held in place by Constant. She raised her eyebrows, reached into a pocket of her spacesuit, and pulled out an impressive looking weapon. It was a polished silver color, the shape of a blaster, with lots of knobs and switches. My eyes widened at the sight of it. She pressed the barrel into Darren's side. He tried to squirm away from her but she held him in place.
"Where. Is. The. Flippin'. President?" she asked, her voice low, her face up close to his.
"Constant," I warned. I had not signed up for this.
"Don't, Sam," she told me.
Darren looked at me pleadingly.
"I will walk away right now," I said.
"Just let Mr. Basher answer the question. No one gets hurt," she said without taking her gaze off of his face. My heart was beating fast. She was going to shoot him. I would be arrested for helping her murder some rich kid. I should have just stayed on the space-station.
"Third floor. In the lab. They've got him hidden in the back room, Number nine, no one uses it anymore," Darren's words came out in a rush, his breathing hap-hazard.
Constant broke into a grin. "Excellent, Mr. Basher. Be on your way, then please," she said. Then she hopped up, grabbed my hand and yanked me down the hall. Stunned, I let her drag me for a minute. As soon as we rounded a corner I pulled away from her and stopped.
"What was that?" I asked.
She turned and looked at me. She was still grinning. She held the gun in front of herself, then lightly under-handed it to me. I caught it out of instinct, worried it would go off. I turned it over in my hands. It was light, too light. Something was off about it.
"This is... cheap plastic..." I looked up at her
"Pull the trigger," She told me. I did. Water squirted out of the tip. I laughed, stunned.
"Purely for intimidation purposes. C'mon, who do you think I am?" She joked.
"I have no idea," I replied, turning the water pistol over in my hands again. I couldn't tell if the gun being fake made her more or less sane than if it had been real.
"If you don't mind, we're still on a mission..." She hinted. I tossed the 'blaster' back to her.
"Right. The lab. Let's go."